


The Doom That Came to Portland

by Tyellas



Category: Antler Guy (Sculpture/Tumblr post)
Genre: Gen, Halloween, Mild Horror, Other, tribute!
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-29
Updated: 2017-08-29
Packaged: 2018-12-21 08:01:54
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 567
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11939808
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tyellas/pseuds/Tyellas
Summary: The tale of how an abomination came to walk our earth in these dark times, and to intone a name of fate…Antler Guy checks out his new neighborhood and isdefinitelyout to Keep Portland Weird.





	The Doom That Came to Portland

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Antler Guy Saga- Original Format](https://archiveofourown.org/works/10842429) by [erinnightwalker](https://archiveofourown.org/users/erinnightwalker/pseuds/erinnightwalker). 



> Dedicated to all my friends who live in Portland and to the wit of [erinnightwalker!](http://archiveofourown.org/users/erinnightwalker/pseuds/erinnightwalker)

There had been other times, other places. Other manifestations. Atlantis. Babylon. Nan Madol. London. This city, too, was a nexus of humans, spun into his orbit when the cold stars aligned with the dark undertows of the seven hells. They were closer to the End Times now. The call of this nexus had become irresistible. The demon-lord knew himself summoned.

He let the lightning call him down on a rainy night. Standing on a hard road, amidst the stink of ozone, he drank in the new city. Its stone and brick and metal. Its human scale. There was a scent of of dead leaves and vile refuse. More, his ineffable seventh sense was warmed by the feel of lava nearby. Death and fire had cloaked the land here, and would come again.

His first movement was to honor the sleeping volcano, one spirit of fire to another. He bowed his vast head, a naked antlered skull, in salute. Then, bone by bone, his disturbing form began to move.

Rattling through the polluted shadows, he saw men still drank cheap beer until they reeled. They treated their lemans to the unclean flesh-meats of pigs as a precursor to mating. His dark soul felt a tentacle of kinship to them for that. For he was not the solitary demon-lord he had been of old. He had progressed in power, he too had mated and spawned. Now, it was here that he was destined to dwell a time, and his son would learn the ways of this world he was destined to rule.  His etoliated hand already held the corroded key of his appointed dwelling. Once he opened the door, his hell-wife and spawn would come to him. But not before.

A scrap of pink cardboard blew against him, got caught in his ankle bones. He bent and turned the banked fire of his eyes upon it. Before it burst into flame, he caught its words: VOODOO DOUGHNUT. The cardboard burned sweet, like some new incense. An excellent auger.

He strode through drifts of dead leaves, leaving more ashes in his wake, until he came to a black wall. The concrete and paint were strong enough to endure his regard. More runes awaited. He read the message they held:

KEEP PORTLAND WEIRD.

He nodded, somberly. A sign of many sorcerers. Perhaps they would battle the mangled apricot hell-beast vying to rule the land. He was glad to return to interesting times. There was great promise for his son.

A few more strides in the heart of the night, lured on by his demon’s seventh sense, settled the matter. He stood now before an abode. It was very new, less than two hundred years old. Despite this, it had a charm, small, dark, intimate. The key in his hand glowed to life, a corroded red. The lock on the door matched it, radiating the same corrupt crimson. The last of his bones clicked into alignment.

This, for now, was home.

A shrill cry cut the night. “STEVE! STEVE! Tell Timmy it’s time to come in. I swear, every Halloween, I can’t tell who’s got more of a sugar high, you or him – ” Two shadows, tall and small, hustled into the house.

The house next door.

Again, the demon-lord bowed his antlered skull. “STEVE,” he intoned. “NEIGHBOR STEVE.” 

There was a rightness to it. Feeling complete, he unlocked his new home's door.


End file.
